Enchanted
by wynnie the pooh
Summary: When Angela and Jack meet, neither of them really guessed what would happen. Sometimes, all it takes is a single moment to become enchanted. AU. Songfic: Enchanted by Taylor Swift. I might write more if people want.


**This is a new story that I started writing late at night. I wanted to write something romantic and sweet, but that might not have actually happened. Actually, it would never have happened, because it is not in the Bones universe, but I wanted to try something different. I don't know. Tell me what you think. I may continue, I may not. I'm not sure yet.**

* * *

Sometimes, Jack Hodgins knew he must be insane. In his minds eye he could clearly see the soft curve of her hips, the tantalizing texture of her thighs. He could see the fall of her dark hair, like 98% cocoa chocolate, curling gently round her shoulders. He could feel her lips against his, applying the slightest of pressures, almost teasing him.

He'd only seen her twice in his life.

Her name was Angela Montenegro.

* * *

Angela decided that night, that waiting was not the right answer. For too long she had waited, sensing the moment was right, but not wanting to push the boundaries, not wanting to make him crack.

Her lips were pushed tight together as she pulled the loose shirt over her head and tied a wide black belt around her waist. She carefully adjusted the line of her cleavage and looked at herself once in the mirror. It was good enough, she decided. It would be good enough for the slightly on the short side man she had met at the bar a few days earlier.

* * *

He'd looked at her in that way that most men do, the first night they met. His eyes ran up and down her body, searching out her curves, and she didn't try to stop him. This was commonplace for her, but it never really continued past the point of looking. Only certain men would have the chance to touch. And even then, they'd have to earn it.

The second night she had seen Jack, he approached her at the bar. Her ankles were crossed and rested lightly on the footrest of the barstool. A glass of bourbon and coke had been placed in front of her and she was sipping at it tentatively, unsure whether it suited her tastes for the night. His eyes were light and thoughtful, the brightest shade of blue she had ever seen, as he sat down on the stool beside her.

'Hi,' he said.

The bartender handed him a drink like hers without question and he handed over a bill. 'Hi,' he said again.

'Hi.' Angela's reply was curt, borderline rude, but she wasn't interested in the man beside her. He was only looking for kicks, she was sure, and she wasn't going to let the depth of his eyes confuse her into a night of hot sex.

'Uh- um... I heard you had some paintings showing at a local art gallery,' he stammered, running a hand through his rough golden curls. 'I thought I might check it out. What pieces would you suggest?'

She glanced at him quickly then. He was nervous, she could tell. He kept chewing on the edge of his lip and running his hand alternatively through his hair and along the edge of his glass.

'I would suggest the one at the very back of the room. It's the only one that's actually mine.'

He let out a small laugh. 'Of course it is.'

Angela took a sip of her drink, placed it back down on the bar. 'Why are you here?'

'What do you mean?'

'You know what I mean. Why are you chatting me up? What do you want? I'm not in the sex business. And I don't even know your name.'

A confused expression crossed his face, and his eyebrows narrowed slightly. 'I don't know what you're talking about. I'm Jack, and I just wanted to say hi.'

'Oh, right.'

'I'm serious.'

'Yes, and I'm Santa Claus.'

* * *

He didn't know why he was dressing up for her. Well, he did, but he didn't want to admit it. She was captivating, way too good at looking her best, and seemed to naturally radiate the kind of confidence that he had never been able to muster. If he could have half her confidence... Well, he wouldn't need to be rich to get the girl.

He shook his damp curls out and swigged at a bottle of mouth wash. His dark suit was unbuttoned and his tie was tied loosely around his neck. His keys were in his pocket and all that was left was to drive.

* * *

The small restaurant was that way because it was exclusive. Exclusive and expensive. Jack paid at the door with his platinum credit card, and led Angela in by the arm. The two of them looked too casual for a night out at a high-class restaurant, but there was no plan to stay there, and the doorman had asked no questions.

Their waiter sat them down at a two seater table near a window, the perfect view and the perfect location. They were equally spaced between the kitchen and the door, far enough away to seem unsuspicious and close enough to make a quick getaway.

'What are you thinking of?' Angela asked him. She was resting her chin on her hand, lips pursed quizically. She didn't normally ask this question of men, because normally she knew the answer. But for some reason, Jack didn't press her as the kind of guy who was only interested in sex. Not anymore.

'I'm thinking about the best escape routes if something goes wrong.'

'And what are they?'

'Back door exit through the bathrooms. Front door exit through the foyer. And I'm pretty sure there's a door for deliveries at the back of the kitchen.'

'Do you normally plan the escape routes?' she asked. Was he already regretting this night, regretting coming here for her. Well, if that was the case, she could come up with a whole heap of reasons to regret it too.

'Not usually,' he said quickly, before the ideas had a chance to start forming in her head. 'I don't run away, but I was thinking this could go very badly, and you'd want to be able to escape.'

'Why would I want to escape?'

'Well, sometimes, people think I can get too intense.'

* * *

Maybe, Jack thought as he looked in the mirror for the third time that week, that wasn't the best thing to say. It was kind of like a paradox. By saying you were intense, you were suddenly made intense, and from the moment the words left his mouth he could see her glance at the front door. He had known it. He always knew it.

But for some reason she had stayed. She had held out the night in relative politeness, and didn't bother him again on the meanings of the escape routes. But when he had dropped her back at her apartment, she didn't stop to let him say more than a passing goodbye. She didn't give him a chance to try and kiss her.

Why did all his tries at real relationships always go so wrong. And why did he even think he could have a real relationship with her. He'd barely even known her a week.

He knew the answer. It was the fascination. The insanity that came with the first glimpse he caught of her. From that single moment, he was hers. He just had to find the right words to make her his.

* * *

It had gone horribly. That Angela had to admit to herself. It had been a mess of 'please' and 'thank you's, not taking the time to truly get to know each other. She had backed away because she was scared.

She didn't like to admit, and especially not to herself, that he could scare her. From the very first time he looked at her, she knew there was something, even though it was faint enough that she could hide it and pretend.

Her best friend would tell her she was only experiencing a rush of hormones unlike any she had ever felt before. A strange mix, one that came only with certain physiological pleasures. She would tell her best friend, that it was love.

* * *

Their next date came unexpectedly. Neither had called the other, nor had been willing to. Both had tried their hardest to seem cool and collected, and leave nothing that could be mistaken for a shaken resolve. But somehow, like fate, they had been brought back together. Jack thought it was fate, a seemingly random collection of events that meant she was his _one. _Angela thought it was the most annoying coincidence in the history of coincidences, that just when she was convincing herself that he meant nothing to her, they were thrust back into each others arms. Literally.

The bar was crowded and again Angela sat at the barstool, this time rocking her foot in time with the pounding music that filled the dance floor. Some kind of shot was in front of her, and she downed it quickly, hoping it might quell her emotions and make the push of thoughts in her head a little less extreme.

Jack's approach was purely by chance, unlike the other attempts at catching her eye, and he didn't even see her dark curls until he'd taken his first swig of a tall beer.

'Angela?' he coughed.

Her head turned quickly to see him putting his beer down on the counter. His hand looked sticky with alcohol, and his jaw was open in shock.

'Jack,' she replied with a sigh.

'I didn't think you'd be here again.'

'I didn't think _you'd _try to grace my company again.'

His eyebrows knitted together. 'I'm confused. Is it a good thing or a bad thing?'

She shook her head, a laugh bubbling in her throat. 'I have no clue.'

He smiled and took another sip of his beer, resting his head in his hand to take a good look at her. 'You look beautiful tonight, you know?'

'Don't I always?'

'Yes, but for some reason you're glowing.'

'Maybe you've had a bit too much to drink.' She stood up, accepting a glass of champagne that the barman passed to her, and walked out towards the dancefloor.

'Where are you going?' Jack called after her.

'To dance!'

'Can I come with you?'

Her only reply was to laugh.

* * *

The bed was warm when Angela collapsed into it. She was tired, and alcohol was fogging her system. She curled up into a tight ball and slept.

* * *

Jack could have sworn he should have been somewhere different than his own bed when he woke up. He could hear her laugh, taunting him, and the sway of her hips to the music. He remembered his hands on her waist and the way she pushed her body against his. He remembered the taste of her mouth on his lips and the way her hair fell across her face.

But she wasn't here now.

He rolled over to see the glowing numbers on his clock radio. 11am. He'd slept for far too long, and he should have been somewhere, doing something. Instead, he was lying here thinking about her. And the oddest thing about it was that he really didn't want to stop.

With a sigh her brought his hand to his face to rub the sleep from his eyes. There, on the back of his hand was a number. It was scrawled in permanent marker with two words on top. _My cell._

_

* * *

_

_A buzzing reverberated around her head, ringing again and again. It was too loud. Her head was throbbing. Why wouldn't the noise just go away?_

She pulled herself to a sitting position and reached for her cell, smooth and cold in her skin. 'Hello?'

'Hi... um... who is this?'

'Who is _this?'_

'Uh, my name's Jack Hodgins. Your number was written on my-'

'Jack.' A laugh escaped her lips. 'I remember writing that. I can't remember much else.'

'Angela?'

'Yes?'

'Is it you?'

'Yes.'

She could almost hear him smiling, and she couldn't help but smile along.

'Do you feel as bad as I do right now? I feel like I dumped my head in a vat of moonshine.'

'I do feel rather under the weather,' she laughed. 'But I should be good in half an hour. I feel like I've slept for days.'

'You must be the master of the hangover, Angela Montenegro.'

'Why, thank you.'

With the phone still attached to her ear, she stood up shakily, running her hand along the wall to guide her to the door.

'I was wondering, I know this sounds kind of stupid, but did anything happen last night. I mean, other than us dancing and getting incredibly drunk.'

She smiled. 'Don't worry yourself, hot stuff. I don't leave in the mornings.'

* * *

All Jack could do was smile. He could have sworn that every tooth in his mouth was visible. They hadn't slept together. But she hadn't been repulsed by the idea either. She'd even called him 'hot stuff'. It had to be a step in the right direction.

He walked down the stairs to his breakfast with a spring in his step. The affects of the alcohol had worn off in a sudden rush, and he felt more alive than he had felt in his whole life. He had always believed this would only ever happen when he'd met the _one_. She had to be. There was no other option.

He shovelled his breakfast into his mouth, eating with a vigour he hadn't had in months. In one had was his fork, in the other, his cell. A quick message was typed with shaky, nervous fingers.

_Can I take you somewhere special? No alcohol this time. A proper date where we will remember every moment. _

He waited anxiously for the reply.

* * *

It was about an hour later when Jack waited at the docks, leaning against a pillion.

'Jack,' a voice called and he turned to see her, skirt tight against her thighs, waist accentuated by the belt adorning it.

'You look amazing,' he managed to say.

Her only reply was to smile. 'So what are we doing today?'

'We're going to go for a walk.' He held out his hand, her number still scrawled on the back, and she took it.

Their shoulders bumped as they walked along, but it felt right, almost intimate. This was something different from the dancing of the night before, more sweet and gentle.

'Do you ever think about true love?' he asked her, squeezing her hand gently.

'I think it's possible. I don't think it's for everyone, but some people just know when something's right.'

'Would you feel weird,' he asked. 'If I told you I thought this was true love.'

She let her head against his shoulder. And even though they'd barely known each other a week, she felt compelled to say, 'no'.

* * *

They're first proper kiss was soft and sweet. They had sat down beside each other on a rundown park bench, and their knees sat side by side, just touching.

'Angela,' Jack had whispered, turning to face her. Her eyes were warm and soft, and she gave him a small smile. 'Can I kiss you now?'

They're lips met without much hesitation, and his hands quickly came to hold her neck. Her own hands slid to his waist, curling into the soft fabric of his shirt. They're lips parted slightly, and something they'd both been wanting to say slipped between them in that moment. There were no words for it, just a feeling.


End file.
